


Debridement

by ArgylePirateWD



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Not-Quite-Hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of a tough night, Jo needs a friend who understands death. No one knows death like Henry Morgan.</p>
<p>Winner of the first Forever Fanfiction Writing Contest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debridement

**Author's Note:**

> Winner of the first [Forever Fanfiction Writing Contest](http://castlehiatuscontest.tumblr.com/post/132379836530/and-the-winners-of-the-first-forever-contest-are). Huge thanks to the Castle Hiatus Writing Contest peeps for running this thing—it was fun! :D
> 
> Warnings: Coping with loss, and grief playing tricks on Jo's eyes

Jo still sees him, sometimes.

She comes home late, exhausted to her soul, and Sean is at the door, waiting with a smile. She passes their old bedroom on the way to the former guest room, and he's perched on the bed they once shared. He's in the mirror when she brushes her teeth. He's in the shadows when she pads downstairs for a glass of water, and doesn't cringe when Jo grabs the whiskey instead.

The real Sean would have cringed.

Bottle in hand, Jo sinks to the cold linoleum. Sean's so close, close enough to touch, but he's not real. "Why are you here?" she asks, strangling on the gut-wrenching loneliness ripping her chest to shreds. "Why won't you go away?"

She whispers, "Why can't you come back?"

He doesn't reply. He never does.

The liquor goes down hard, but the bitter burn doesn't seal the gaping wound in her heart. Through wet eyes, she stares at the dark nothingness that becomes Sean, and she drinks. She drinks until she's sick to her stomach, until her mind's a buzzing blur of "Why?" Sean should be there, warm and solid and perfect, holding her in his arms. She can still see him. Why can't she feel him? Why is he gone? Why?

All she wants is answers.

Driven by drunken logic, Jo pushes herself to her feet. Henry. She needs to call Henry. No one knows more answers than Henry. No one knows death like Henry Morgan.

After a slow trek upstairs, she's on the bed she rarely shared with Sean, waiting for Henry to answer his phone. It's late—God, when did it pass one-thirty?—but Henry greets her with a friendly, "Hello, Detective."

"How do you always do that?" she asks, her weak voice trembling. "How do you just...know?"

"Logic. Abe's sleeping soundly, and there isn't anyone else I'm likely to receive a call about or from at this hour." Then, in a concerned tone, Henry says, "You sound upset. What's wrong?"

Perceptive as always. "I..." She struggles to find the words, and a small whimper escapes her throat. _I keep seeing Sean_ , she wants to say, but that sounds insane. _I need you_ , almost comes out without permission.

"Sean..." she begins. Her throat seizes.

"Ah. Would you like me to come over?"

Part of her wants to say no. "Yes," she replies, as shadows in the hall coalesce into Sean. "Please."

When Henry hangs up, Jo staggers downstairs, stumbling through translucent phantoms to collapse on the sofa. In the dark screen of the television, she spots her reflection. Worse than the sight of her wrecked hair and haunted eyes is the echo of Sean telling her he loved her. She thought she'd laid Sean's ghost to rest for good after putting away the videotape that night. She was wrong.

She's always wrong.

A soft knock sounds against her door. Outside, she finds Henry. He gives her a kind smile. "May I come in?"

Jo wipes her tears on her sleeve. "Yeah, of course." On the street beyond, a Sean-shaped figure watches. She expects the illusion to vanish when she blinks. It doesn't.

Henry glances toward it, but doesn't see it. "Is something out there?"

"No," Jo says. "Of course not." Henry gives her a skeptical look. "I keep seeing...him," she admits. "Sean. Why won't he go away?"

"Because the human brain is capable of nigh on unimaginable cruelty, especially toward itself." Once they're seated on the sofa, he takes Jo into his arms, and she rests her head on his chest. Through the fabric of his shirt, she feels the roughness of his scar under her cheek, the rumble of his words as he says, "Sean may not go away."

Her eyes burn. "Not what I was hoping to hear." She swallows and tries to bite back the threatening tears, but it's no use. She's cold, hollow, breath trapped in the vacant chamber of her crushed chest. Henry is warm, warm and solid and imperfect. He hugs her close, tight, and she chokes out his name and buries her face against him, clutching his shirt as grief claws at her roiling insides.

"I'm here." He kisses her head, then rests his chin atop it. "I won't go anywhere unless you want me to. I promise. Let go."

Something inside her breaks, and anguish gushes through the fissures like blood from a wound. Nothing makes sense, nothing but the pain she can't stop and the face she can't wipe from her mind. "I just want..." She wants Henry to be Sean, wants Henry to be Henry, wants to understand the agony consuming her so desperately that pouring knowledge into her veins wouldn't be enough. "What do I want?"

"You want everything to be all right again," Henry replies, and rubs her back. She cries all over his shirt until her gut aches and her breath hitches with every gasp. "You want everything to make sense. But you know it never will, and never is a very long time.

"Getting used to 'never' isn't easy," Henry continues. "The pain may linger for the rest of your life, and you may have to revisit it to help it heal. It's like removing unhealthy tissue from a wound—debridement. It hurts like mad, but you need to do it. You'll heal better if you do. And you will survive it. You're strong enough."

Jo believes him.

She slumps against Henry, exhausted. "You're speaking from experience," she says, voice ragged, opening her eyes. Sean looks on from the damp stain on Henry's shirt. She ignores him. "Aren't you?"

"Yes." Henry takes a deep breath, then exhales. "I am. Which is why you will never have to bear this pain alone. As long as you need me, I will be here for you."

Jo can't help but ask, "What if I always need you?"

"Then I shall be here for you forever." Henry smiles. "I promise."


End file.
